Welcome to Copper Valley
by atwitsend430
Summary: Charlie "Red" Swan is tired of watching his best friend's son eat his heart out over some gold-diggin' tramp from the city, so he hatches a plan to get his boss over his loss by hiring a pretty, young thing to assist him in the cookhouse. Bella Dwyer has spent the last year, struggling to make ends meet after aging out of the foster care system. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Stilling wearing the same dusty jeans and Stetson he'd worn all day, the cowboy sat alone at a table in the cookhouse – a half empty bottle of whiskey beside him and a shot glass in his hand. He stared out into the tidy, rustic, concrete, and wooden room where day after day hungry, tired cowhands assembled for a hot meal and a cup of coffee. Outside, a stray dog barked and cattle shuffled about in the fields. Inside the barn, horses settled down into warm beds of hay. All was quiet at Copper Valley that evening

He poured himself a drink – not his first one by any means – and tossed it back, welcoming the fiery burn of the alcohol as it traveled down his throat. Though the rest of the world slept, he could not. Pouring another drink, he stood and paced in front of his chair.

"_I love you, Edward. Forever."_

Her voice echoed in his head. Forever? Not hardly. Time and time again, she'd whispered how much she loved him. Each night, she had cried out her devotion to him and to this life as they'd made love. But it had all been a lie.

He threw his hat down on the table and ran a hand through his unruly, auburn hair. The day had been like any other at the ranch – feeding and watering cattle, checking the herd's numbers, meeting with his accountant to go over the live stock sale proceeds from earlier that spring and fixing fence lines. Nothing strange happened. No accidents. No tragedies of epic proportion. _Nothing._ And that was the problem.

"_We're going to have such a wonderful life here."_

He chuckled darkly and drank the shot in his hand. Life was anything but wonderful for him right now.

Grabbing the whiskey bottle from the table, he stalked over to the fireplace in the corner and slumped down on the hearth, with his chin tucked down into his chest. Everything felt wrong. The ranch. The people. Even the room in front of him was wrong.

Red-rimmed eyes swept out over the room again. On any other day, his sage green eyes would've turned every woman's head within a hundred miles, but tonight they were dull and clouded from whiskey. He clutched a hand to his chest and rubbed at it. The room was getting smaller and smaller, and his lungs burned at his effort to get in a decent breath.

June 1st. She'd promised to marry him on June 1st. Though the calendar on the far wall assured him that it was indeed that day, her promise had meant nothing. She was gone – left in the middle of night. No goodbye, no explanation. Just a miserable scrap of paper left on her pillow.

Six months later, here he sat. No wedding. No wife.

It was ironic that he should end up sitting in the cookhouse nursing his wounds. He'd avoided it all day because this was where she'd planned to have the wedding reception. But when the sun had started set, he found himself and his bottle stumbling their across the main long to its front steps.

He'd been sitting at that table for hours, drinking glass after glass, hoping to dull the ache. But nothing could kill the pain of her rejection.

"_What about tea lights? Wouldn't they pretty?"_

His fevered mind conjured up a vision of tables lined with white linen, tiny water filled bowls and flickering tea lights floating about. Bunches of yellow roses were stood in vases and white twinkle lights decorated every corner. Off to the side, a band was playing a hauntingly beautiful love song. And a young couple danced, wrapped in each other's arms – the woman, dressed in white, gazing lovingly into the eyes of her partner.

"Rrrrah!" he howled suddenly into the quiet room and leapt to his feet.

His blood pounding in his ears, he swung the bottle of whiskey down hard onto the hearth, shattering it into a thousand, glittering pieces. The shot glass he flung somewhere out into the middle of the room with an equally satisfying crash. When his eyes darted over to the tables and chair, a fire lit from within him, and he marched over and began heaving chairs left and right, turning tables over too as he went.

His rage was a living, breathing thing – snarling, clawing, and fighting its way through his belly. It fueled his ire, taunting him at every turn.

_Yes! Yes! Break it. Tear it! Rip it!_

Not content to limit the destruction to the tables and chairs, he picked up one of the chairs and threw it through a window, the sound of the glass shattering a symphony to his ears. He pulled picture frames and other decorations from the wall, crushing them beneath his boots. When even that wasn't enough to satisfy his anger, he turned his fists to the wall.

With each punch, he screamed and roared out his fury and sorrow, attempting to destroy the vision that tormented him so. Over and over and over, he pummeled the wall. Until his knuckles were raw and bloody. With every breath, he cursed both the woman who had left him and the god who allowed it to happen.

After a while, his screams lessened and melted down into soft, soul wrenching sobs. The sheer weight of his pain forced him to his knees – his hands roughly pulling and tugging at his hair.

Mercifully, whether from too much whiskey or pure exhaustion, darkness finally consumed him, and he passed out. For the first time in months, Edward Masen, owner of the Copper Valley Cattle Ranch slept.

* * *

**AN: Hey everyone! I'm back! The semester is over, and I plan to get back to writing again. And don't worry. I haven't given up on "The Housekeeper". I will be posting new chapters for that story soon. I also have a short story, no more than five chapters almost complete that I wrote over my spring break and will be posting. In the middle of all that, this little plot bunny came up and wouldn't leave me alone until I started writing it. I'm planning for this to be more of a drabble-ish fic, with shorter chapters and more frequent postings. At least, that's what I have in mind, but I'll let the characters tell me what they want. In the meantime, let me know what you think. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Charles Swan, better known to his friends as _Red_, strolled into the Copper Valley Ranch cookhouse early Sunday morning and, after one horrifying glance, nearly turned around and walked back out.

"Woo-eee!" he whistled. "What in _the_ blazes happened in here?"

Tugging at his ear, he stood mystified. He couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him. The place looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Chairs and tables were strewn all over the place. The front window was busted. There were cracked picture frames on the floor. Hell, someone had even taken the stuffed bear's head off the wall and gave it a pitch. It was enough to make a grown man cry. If grown men cried, that is, and Red was of the mind that they didn't.

If the room wasn't puzzle enough, what lay, or rather who was lying in the middle of it, was even more puzzling. Edward A. Masen III, owner and operator of the Copper Valley Cattle Ranch, lay passed out under one of the only tables that wasn't turned over, sound asleep and drooling onto the wood floor.

Red's mustache twitched. _What has that young buck gotten himself into this time?_

Tiptoeing his way over the broken glass and wood splinters, Red took a quick inventory of the damage. After he woke the boss up and got him back into the main house, he'd call a few of the boys in from the barn and have them work on cleaning the place up. Then he'd send Sam into Casper to order some replacements for the chairs and tables that were destroyed.

Shaking his head, he stooped down to pick up what looked like a broken whiskey bottle in front of fire place. He frowned. Red just didn't cotton to drinking. It clouded a man's mind – made him stupid and useless. And glancing back at his boss and the mess, Red figured the man had gotten pretty stupid last night, a whole bottle's worth of stupid from the smell of it too.

"How one man can let hisself get so twisted up over a woman, I'll never know," the old man grumbled.

Throwing the piece of bottle back down on the floor with the rest of the glass, he headed over to take a peek at the kitchen and was relieved to find that his boss's temper tantrum had stayed confined to the one room. Thank God for small favors.

Glancing back at the other man's prostrate form on the floor, Red grinned wickedly. Edward didn't know it yet, but he was in for a rude awakening. Yes, sir, a very rude awakening indeed.

Hitching up his belt, he marched over to the kitchen faucet, grabbing an industrial-sized plastic measuring bucket on his way and turned on the cold tap. He waited just till the water had reached the very tip top of the bucket and then turned and stalked back out into the other room.

Red stood directly over top where his boss lay and bowed his head solemnly in prayer.

"For what I'm about to do Lord, I apologize. And for what he's about to receive, may he be truly thankful."

Then he promptly doused the sleeping man with the bucket of water.

Edward Masen howled like a bobcat when the ice cold water hit him and sprang to his feet – his fists armed and ready to punch the son of a bitch who had attacked him in his sleep.

"Fu—u—ck!" he yelled and then winced when the sound shot needles of fiery pain into his forehead.

Red chuckled. "Good mornin' to you too, Sunshine."

Edward wheeled on the older man, spitting and wiping water from his eyes.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" he asked incredulously.

Red gestured wildly about the room. "Look at this place! Boy, you sure tied one on last night. Ya damn near tore down the whole buildin'. There must be pert near a couple thousand dollars worth of damage."

He shook a finger at the young man. "An' if'n you weren't the boss around these parts, I'd a' done more'n just toss a little water on your sorry behind. You'd be pickin' it up in pieces out there on the front lawn after what you did last night."

Red ran a hand over his beard, glaring at Edward, but he just stood there with a blank look on his face, his soaked shirt sticking to his skin and his hair plastered to his forehead. Red swore. _He's still drunk._

"On second thought," he muttered, "I think I'll kick your sorry ass anyway. Maybe then you'll wake the hell up and get over this nonsense."

Red cocked back one meaty fist and let it fly.

Edward barely realized what was happening before it slammed into his jaw and sent him flying into the wall behind him.

"Motherf-!" he grunted as he slid down the wall and back onto the floor.

"Git up!" Red ordered him. "I'm gonna sober you up iffin' it's the last thing I do."

"What?" Edward muttered dimly, rubbing his jaw and shaking his head, trying to clear his vision.

"I said, git up!" Red bent down and jerked Edward up by his shirt collar. "A cold shower ought 'a clean the cobweb's outta that empty head of yours."

He dragged Edward out of the cookhouse, across the front lawn, and into the main house

Edward allowed himself to be dragged as far as the foyer before he jerked free of the old cook's grip and whirled on him.

"Let go of me, old man!" he slurred.

As he turned, he reared back a fist and swung wildly at the other man. But Red was ready for him and neatly side-stepped the hit. The momentum of the punch sent Edward reeling forward, and Red took the opportunity to kick out one leather booted foot and swept him off his feet.

Edward stumbled to his knees, but only for a second. With an enraged roar, he scrambled back to his feet and charged at the old man head first – slamming into his chest. Both men flew into a side table, toppling it and hurling a lamp to the floor along with it.

The two men wrestled and struggled with each other from one end of the room to the other, till they reached the base of a long staircase. There, Red, finally able to get a hand free, grabbed onto one of Edward's ears and pulled.

Edward howled. "Damn it, Red! Let go! That hurts!"

He twisted and squirmed, trying with all his might to break the cook's grip on the fragile piece of tissue. "Fuck, you're gonna tear it off," he whined.

"Have ya had enough yet?" the older man wheezed, sweat pouring from his forehead. He gave the ear a sharp tug. "Well, have ya?"

"Yes! Yes! I give up," Edward cried in defeat.

"Good," Red let loose of the ear. "Now, head up those stairs before I decide to start tearin' off other body parts."

Muttering and grumbling, Edward picked himself off the floor and turned to head up the staircase. _Asshole._

"What did you say?" Red called up from behind him.

Edward snorted. "Nothing."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "It'd better be."

oOoOoOo

Upstairs in the bedroom, Red turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat. Edward sat on the toilet, his head in his hands. His face hurt. His stomach was twisted up in knots, and his tongue felt like he'd been licking on the wrong side of a cactus.

"Now," Red stood back from the shower, "git in this shower and clean yerself up. You got thirty minutes, so be quick about it. The hands'll have to eat breakfast in the main house this morning, bein' as how you destroyed _their_ dining room last night."

He helped Edward to his feet and headed for the door. "Git to it, young man. You don't want me to have to come find you."

Exactly twenty-eight minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Edward emerged from his room – showered, shaved, and wearing a clean pair of jeans and a red checkered chambray shirt. Stepping out into the hallway, he briefly thought about skipping breakfast but realized that Red would just hunt him down and force feed him if he had to.

A glance at his watch told him it was still early. The hands wouldn't be in for breakfast for at least another fifteen minutes – plenty of time for him to head downstairs and face the music.

Red was in the kitchen, pulling a batch of biscuits from the oven when Edward strolled in.

"Well," he stood up and placed the pan on top of the stove. "Seein' a might clearer now, are we?"

Edward grimaced. "Alright, old man, just say whatever you're gonna say and be done with it. I've got a ranch to run."

"Is that so, Mr. Smarty Pants?" Red drawled. "Well, then I guess I don't have to tell ya that any other hand on this ranch would be pickin' up his last paycheck if he'd pulled a stunt like you did last night. Why, if your daddy was still alive…"

"Don't bring my father into this," Edward growled.

Red shook his head and sighed. "Son, I just don't know what to do with you here lately. You're like a bear with a sore paw, scratchin' and growlin' at anything that comes within an inch of ya."

He sat down at the small kitchen table, wiping his hands on an old white apron. "Talk to me, boy," he pleaded.

Edward scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look, yesterday was just a bad day. That's all."

"A bad day, huh?" The old man's eyes narrowed. "Just what kind of bad day makes a man want to guzzle down a whole gallon of whiskey and then turn into the bogey man?"

"Red, please, can you just let it go?" Edward begged. "It was a onetime thing, and I promise that it will never happen again."

"You're damn right it'll never happen again," Red agreed. "'Cause you can be certain I'll be a'lockin' up that liquor cabinet of yours and sleeping with the key around my neck from now on. I'm gettin' too old for this shit."

He stood and went back to the stove. "Speakin' of which, I meant to ask you this mornin', I've been thinking of hiring another cook. I ain't getting any younger, you know, and it's high time I got some help up in this place. I ain't gonna be around forever."

Edward's eyes widened. "You ain't figuring on leaving me are you, Red?"

"What?" the old man blustered. "Hell no! Where'd you get a fool idea like that? I'm just sayin' – I'm sixty years old. A man can't live forever."

Edward let out the breath he'd been holding. "Good. You had me worried there for a minute."

Red grunted. "Don't be ridiculous. Copper Valley's my home. I've been here nigh on fifteen years, and I ain't aimin' to change things."

"Glad to hear it," Edward nodded. "Anyway, yeah, go ahead and hire someone. You can call up Jessica at the Register on Monday morning. Tell her to put it on the ranch's account."

"I'll do just that," Red agreed and turned back to his biscuits, brushing melted butter over their tops.

"Oh, and Red?" Edward interrupted him. "Make sure to hire a man."

"Excuse me?" Red's bushy eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead.

"Don't argue with me, Red. I've got my reasons," the younger man replied. "Besides, you should know better than anyone that women don't belong here at Copper Valley. It either sucks the life out of them or sends them running away in the middle of the night."

Red eyed the other man sadly. "Son, I know you might feel that way now, but you gotta believe me. This ranch didn't kill your mama, and it didn't make that girl run off. If she loved you like she said, nothin' would've drove her away. And you know you're mama loved you cause it was the last words she spoke before the cancer took her."

"Maybe you're right. I don't know," Edward sighed. "But I think it's better for the time being if you just trust me and do what I tell you. No women. And that's final."

"If you say so," Red agreed reluctantly. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Anyway, go ring the bell and tell the men that breakfast is on the table. An' git back here and eat something yerself."

* * *

**AN: This one turned out to be a lot longer than I had intended, but like I said with the last chapter. The characters will tell me where to go. To everyone that posted a review, thank you so much. You have no idea just how much your words encourage me everytime I sit down to write. With that said, I am off to bed and will start on another chapter tomorrow.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_No women? _Red pursed his lips and rubbed at the back of his neck. Where in the tarnation had that boy gotten such a piss poor idea?

"No women," he scoffed to an empty room. A whole day later and Red was still stumped. He huffed quietly. "Order or no order, I ain't a' gonna listen. I'm a' gonna do what needs doing."

A woman was just what this ranch and his boss needed. And not some fancy, blond trollop prancing around, acting like she owned the place. No sir-ee, he was gonna find the boss a _real _woman – one that wore jeans and boots and with a little fire in her blood.

The old man chuckled gleefully. Yep, yep. He knew just what kind of woman he was gonna hire. Looking out the window in front of him, Red spied Edward helping one of the other hands fit a saddle to one of the new horses he'd purchased that week from Chase Farms.

A glance at the elderly clock over the door told him lunch was just an hour and away. And experience told him if he wanted his plan to work, he'd have to be quick about it. If the boss got wind of what he was up to, he'd fire the old cook on the spot. No, he decided – best to git 'er done while the gittin' was still good.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Red covered a batch of yeast rolls he'd been working on for supper with a long towel and left them to rise on the stove. The beef stew he'd made for lunch was simmering in a big cast iron pot and would keep for an hour or two. If he hurried, he could make it to town and back before anyone noticed he was gone.

After sneaking his way out and around the cookhouse, taking care that no one saw him, he slid into the driver's side of his old, white Ford pick-up and made tracks into town.

oOoOoOo

Jessica Stanley sat behind a make-shift desk inside a storage cupboard of an office at the Bishop Town Register. Despite her father's discouragement after she'd finished college, she'd worked there for over thirty years and had taken over ownership after he'd died in '92. She'd even insisted on keeping the same tiny office.

She took her job seriously and ruled the modest town newspaper with an iron fist – refusing to take guff from anyone. She could be hard as nails and twice as ornery when something or someone got on her bad side, but to her friends she was fiercely loyal and always ready to lend a helping hand.

She was tall and skinny with iron-gray hair that she wore in a loose bun atop her head. She preferred long denim skirts and simple, cotton blouses paired with a sturdy pair of hand-tooled leather cowboy boots. Sitting back in her chair with her glasses perched on the end of her nose and a pencil clenched between her pearly whites, Red thought she was the prettiest gal he'd ever laid his eyes on. He'd have asked her to marry him too if she hadn't already turned him down a dozen times for a date.

"Well, what can I do for you on this fine, Monday morning, Charlie Swan?" she asked with lazy smile on her face.

"The boss wants me to put out an advertisement for a new cook at the ranch, "Red replied as he planted himself in one of the rickety, wooden chairs in front of her desk.

"A new cook?" The smile on Jessica's face faltered for a second, but she quickly hid it with an evil smirk. "What happened? Did you finally quit like you've been threatening to do for the last ten years or did Edward get tired of your belly-aching and fire you?"

He grunted. "Like hell! That boy'd be lost without me, an' you know it."

Red glared at the puzzling little woman across from him. The way her smile had melted off her face at the mention of him leaving made him think she might've cared after all. But then she'd turned right around with that Cheshire cat grin and insulted him. Damn woman! He had a mind to just leave and take his business to Tyler Crowley over in Casper. That'd put a bee in her bonnet.

"More like he got a little sense an' realized how valuable I am. He agreed I'd been taking on too much work an' told me to hire myself an assistant," he huffed, sitting up straight in his chair and puffing out his chest proudly.

"Aww, now Charlie," Jessica cajoled him. "Don't be getting your tail feathers in a bunch. I was just teasing you, and you know it." She smiled at him sweetly, but then patted the top of her desk, changing the subject. "Now, I assume you came in to see about placing your ad in the Register, right?"

Red cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm here for," he replied before glancing back behind him to see if anyone might be listening at the door.

He knew he was being paranoid, but a body couldn't be too cautious these days. Ears were mighty big in these parts and lips just as loose. Satisfied no one was around, he turned back and whispered conspiratorially, "But I'm a' needin' your help with a bit of a delicate matter too, you might say."

"Oh?" Jessica's eye brows arched slightly. "What sort of delicate matter?"

"Well," Red swallowed awkwardly. "You see, the boss has been doin' kinda poorly since that girl he was a' gonna marry left, and I thought it'd take his mind off things a might if'n there were somethin', or maybe someone, to occupy it."

"Okay," she replied. "But I don't see how I can help you with that. Romance is hardly my area of expertise."

"Now, hold on," he raised a hand, shushing her. "I ain't got to the delicate part yet."

Jessica scowled. "Well, get on with it. I don't have all day."

Red sighed. "Woman, talkin' to you is like trying to herd a pack of alley cats. Can you jus' sit back and lemme say ma peace?"

"Fine," she sighed. "But be quick about it. I have to be at the Sheriff's office in twenty minutes to interview him about that assault and robbery at the Pick-n-Save last week."

"Whatever," he snorted. "Besides, you know as well as me there weren't no real assault. Ol' Ben Cheney more'n likely hit hisself with the way he was a'swingin' that bat. Hell, the kid what robbed him only grabbed it away from him to keep him from hittin' his own wife."

Jessica cleared her throat and nodded at her watch.

"Anyway, when the boss agreed to lemme hire someone, he made it clear he only wanted me to hire a man. But I just cain't do that. That place needs a woman's touch, and I jus' know if'n we pick the right woman it'll take his mind off'n that no account piece of trash he's been pinin' over."

"What do you mean '_we'?_" she asked.

"I need you to help me send out an ad in such a way that the boss won't catch wind of it, and I need to you to help me sort through an' separate the wheat from the chaff," Red explained.

"I see," she nodded seriously. "And why, pray tell, should I help you with this ridiculous scheme? It's obvious Edward has his reasons for wanting to put a little distance between himself and women right now. Don't you think you should respect his decision and leave things alone?"

"Nope," he replied. "'Cause you knew his parents just as well as I did. An' you know his mama wanted nothin' more'n to see that boy settled down and happy with a wife and kids. The rate he's a'goin' he's more'n likely to drink hisself into an early grave. Now, think about that."

Jessica frowned and sat back in her chair. She was quiet for a moment, rolling Red's words over in her mind.

"Fine," she slapped a hand down on her desk. "I'll help you. But _only_ because I know Elizabeth would want me to." She fired up her computer. "Here's what we're gonna do. I'll place the ad on the internet. A friend of mine runs a web magazine, and he owes me a favor. We'll run the ad for about a week, and I'll have the responses forwarded to my email address. You can come in Friday, and we'll go through them together and email whoever we agree sounds suitable."

"That sounds fine to me," Red agreed, grinning from ear to ear. He took a piece of paper from his pants' pocket and slid it across the desk. "This here's what the boss told me to post."

_**Assistant Ranch Cook Wanted**_

_Looking for a full-time permanent assistant ranch cook. Bishop, Wyoming. Single male only. No families please. Must be experienced in planning for and cooking for large groups. Must be able to pass a background check, drug test, and health certificate. Room and board supplied plus wages. Salary DOE. Other jobs - but not limited to: general housekeeping & up keep of cook house, bath house and gardening. If interested please call 555-762-8535 for more information._

She quickly read over the note. "Yes, with a few minor changes, this will work very well. I'll get on it right now." She hunched over her keyboard and started tapping at the keys.

"Hey! What about your interview with the Sheriff?" Red asked.

Jessica eyes twinkled mischievously behind her round, wire rimmed glasses. "Well, you said it yourself, Charlie. It wasn't really assault. And Old Ben does like to wave that bat around a bit too much these days. I expect Sherriff Marcum wouldn't mind putting off our interview till tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

A young woman worked as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, careful to keep her head down at all times. Standing over an open box of clothing detergent, she diligently placed each new bottle on a tall metal shelf in front of her. Around her, customers browsed up and down the aisles – some grabbing a few last minute items while others shopped for the week.

"Bella?!" An annoying, high voice called from the back of the store.

The girl glanced up from her box, her eyes going wide. "Yes, Mike?"

Spotting her, Mike quickly made his way over to her – positioning his body as close to hers as possible.

"Can I see you back in my office for a moment?" he wheezed. His breath stank of onions and garlic from his lunch earlier that day. Bella grimaced and tried to take a step back, but he moved with her, crowding her further.

Her eyes darted down to the floor. "I'm not done stocking yet. Don't you want me to finish this first?"

Mike scowled. "No," he argued. "Get Eric to take over for you."

"Eric?" she glanced back at the smiling, dark haired Asian kid she'd trained earlier that week. He was talking to an old man over in the produce section.

"It looks like he's helping a customer. I don't want to disturb him right now," she hedged, hoping Mike would just go away.

"Then get Alec to take over for you," he hissed. "Either way, I want to see you in my office in the next five minutes. No excuses."

Mike turned and headed for the back, and Bella let out the breath she'd been holding. There was no point in ignoring him. She knew he would just come looking for her, making it that much worse for her when he did. Motioning Alec over, she showed him where she had left off and then slowly walked back to Mike's office.

Bella hated these meetings. Every week, Mike pulled her into his office under the guise of "reviewing her performance", but what he really did was use it as excuse to paw at her and to try to charm her into a date. As if she'd be caught dead with someone so disgusting!

Standing outside his door, she shivered. The man made her skin crawl, and she'd spent the past six months doing her best to stay out of his way. She wanted to quit her job at the grocery store to get away from him, but no one around town was hiring. And she had no savings to float her while she looked either. She was stuck – like a mouse in a trap.

"So, Bella," Mike leaned back in his leather, office chair, stretching his skinny arms behind him. "You've been working here at Newton Grocery for what? Five months?"

"Six, sir," she corrected him softly.

He stood and came around his desk, parking himself on the edge of it in front of Bella. She cringed at the smirk on his face.

"Six months, huh? That's a long time," he observed casually.

"I guess," she muttered, keeping her eyes pointed down at her lap. She nervously played with a loose string on the t-shirt she wore.

"How old are you, Bella?" he asked.

The question surprised her, and she sat up straight in her chair. What did her age have to do with anything? Didn't he already know anyway? It had been on her employment application.

"Nineteen, sir," she replied hesitantly, blushing.

"Young," he remarked. "But not too young to be thinking about your future."

"My future?"

What was Mike getting at? Why did he care about her future? Usually all he cared about was getting into her pants.

"Yes," he nodded. "Have you thought about what you want to do? College? A career? Surely, you don't want to stock shelves for the rest of your life."

Bella chewed the inside cheek. "Honestly, I haven't thought much past next week let alone the rest of my life."

Mike smirked. "Oh surely, you've dreamed about getting married, having children – the proverbial white picket fence, you know? Don't all little girls dream about that kind of thing?"

"No," she shook her head. "I prefer to live in the real world."

He burst in chuckles at her answer. "Oh, Bella, you really are one of the most delightful creatures I've ever met."

He stood and walked over behind her, placing his hands on the back of her chair. "You and I have so much in common," he breathed into her ear. "We both see through the bullshit."

Bella craned her neck to see him. "What do you mean?"

Mike slid his hands from the back of the chair down to shoulders, squeezing them gently. "I have something to confess, Bella. I didn't really call you in here to discuss your work."

Bella bit her tongue to stifle her protest of his hands on her. She knew he wouldn't listen. He enjoyed this. Her eyes darted to the closed door behind them. Split second calculations told her she had absolutely no chance of escaping him. He had her trapped. Like a rat in a cage.

She cleared her throat quietly and asked, "You didn't?"

"No," he shook his head – his face a smooth, blank mask. "I actually have a bit of a proposition for you."

Bella's mouth went dry, and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Oh no, this couldn't be good. Not good at all.

Mike stepped back around to the edge of his desk. He leaned forward and laid both his hands on Bella's knees – one hand sliding down to caress the exposed skin on her calf. Bella shrank back deeper into her chair and silently curse her desire to wear shorts to work that day.

Glancing up at her from beneath his eyelashes, he smiled lasciviously. "Oh, don't look so frightened," he crowed. "I think you'll like what I have to say."

"What…" her voice trembled noticeably, so she sucked in a deep breath and started again. "What did you have in mind?"

"That's my girl! Straight to the point. I knew I could count on you," he quipped. He ran his knuckles back up and over her knee; his fingertips swirling in little figure eights over her skin.

With each separate touch of his oily hands, Bella's stomach heaved, and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. She hoped she did vomit. Anything to get away from him. He was vile and retched, and she desperately wanted to go home and take a hot shower to wash away the stink of him and this whole day.

"I know you've been looking for another job, Bella," he stated gravely. "I also know that you've been having problems making your rent."

"I…I…" she stuttered, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. But he stopped her with one bony, finger to her lips.

"No," he hushed her. "No need for excuses. No explanations."

He dropped his hand from her and waved it airily between them. "You were just doing what you needed to do to take care of yourself. I understand that. And I want to help you."

"_Help_ me?" Bella asked, astonished.

"Yes, I know a lot of people in this town, Bella. Powerful people, influential people," he pointed out arrogantly. "With one phone call, I could get you a job in the mayor's office or even a cushy position at the bank over on Fourth Street. I know the branch manager there. He owes me a favor. Or if you wanted, we could even talk about a promotion here to assistant manager – possibly even to manager with some training."

"Why would you do that?" Bella couldn't stop herself from asking. It was obvious what Mike was planning. She knew she'd be better off staying quiet, but some morbid part of her brain just had to know how far he would take it.

"There you go again, cutting right to the chase. Oh, how I adore you, you wonderful, wonderful girl," he chortled.

His squinty, little eyes wandered down over her t-shirt covered breasts forcing Bella to cross her arms over them in an effort to lock out his gaze. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead, and he licked his lips suggestively.

His eyes locked on hers. "I could be a very good friend to you, Bella Dwyer. A very good friend indeed. And all I ask for in return is your friendship."

"My friendship?" she squeaked.

"Yes," he nodded enthusiastically. "A very special, very close friendship." His eyes darted back down to her breasts again and then up to hers.

Bella ran a trembling hand through her hair. "What would happen if I wasn't able to be friends?" she asked, drawing in a shaky breath. "What if I had other obligations?"

Mike sighed and clucked his tongue sadly. "Oh, well, that wouldn't be very good at all. In fact," he leaned forward, his face hovering over hers. "Something like that might just hurt my feelings. You wouldn't want to hurt my feelings, Bella, would you?"

His thinly, veiled threat was followed by a slight tightening of his hands on her knees.

"No," she whispered, quickly shaking her head.

"Good," he replied, loosening his grip. "I'm so glad we understand each other." He patted her knee and stood up, extending his hand to her. She hesitated but finally accepted it, cringing when her hand met his sweaty, clammy one. He pulled her to her feet, smiling.

"Now," he said brightly. "I want you to take the rest of the day off. In fact, I want you to take the next few days off. You've been working so very hard these past few weeks, and I want you to be good and rested the next time we see each other."

Mike pushed her toward the door. "Meet me here bright and early on Thursday morning. And don't be late."

oOoOoOo

Bella stumbled into her apartment on rubbery legs. Dropping her bag onto the floor, she jerkily turned and locked the door, engaging both the deadbolt and the security chain for good measure. Instinct told her that Mike wouldn't have followed her. In his eyes, he'd already won. Even so, she felt better knowing that he wouldn't be able to just walk in on her.

Her first stop was the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and drank it down greedily. Flashes of her meeting with Mike flitted through her mind. The touch of his hands on her skin. The feel of his breath on the back of her neck.

_I could be a very good friend to you, Bella._

The cold water hit her stomach like a punch to the gut and she gagged. Whirling around, she barely made it to her kitchen sink before throwing up. Afterwards, she stood bent over – her forehead resting against the cool Formica. Silent, hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and dripped down her face onto the counter.

How could she have let herself get into such a situation? What was she going to do now? She couldn't go back. Not to the store. Not to _him_. Certainly not after that sham of a meeting. She refused to be any man's whore – no matter how desperate she might be. Just the thought of letting someone like Mike touch her, even kiss her, sent her heaving back into the kitchen sink again.

After cleaning up after herself in the kitchen, Bella took the hottest shower she could stand and dressed in an old pair of sweat pants and a threadbare t-shirt she'd found at a yard sale. She padded out to the living room and sat down on the couch to flip through her mail.

She'd been sending out resumes and employment applications for weeks now with no response. Flipping through the sales flyers, a bill from the electric company, and one lone magazine, she saw there was still no response. She opened up the email application of her phone and found no messages either. Heaving a sigh, she picked up the magazine.

It was a trade magazine for hunters – the only indulgence she allowed herself with her meager budget.

At her last foster home before aging out of the system, her foster dad, Billy Black, had loved to hunt and had subscribed to the magazine every month. He was an avid outdoorsman and nature lover. Often, he would even take Bella for walks in the woods behind his house, pointing out different plants and flowers that he knew. It was a way for them to spend time together, and she'd cherished every moment.

Billy was a quiet, soft spoken man of Native American heritage who'd welcomed a young, frightened teenage Bella into his home. Having lost his son in the war in Afghanistan, he'd doted on his new charge and had wanted to adopt her – give her a real home – but a car accident a month before she graduated high school took both his life and her last real chance at having a family since her mother died. She'd kept the magazine subscription as a way to remember him and his kindness.

Bella leafed through the magazines pages, chuckling over a few random political comics. Out of curiosity, she flipped to the very last few pages to the classified section. Maybe they would have some employment ads. A quick scan yielded three job postings: one for at-home envelope stuffer, one for a financial planning consultant, and the third for a cook on a ranch in Wyoming.

She disregarded the first two as scams, but the third one sounded promising. It read:

_**Assistant Ranch Cook Wanted**_

_Looking for a full time permanent assistant ranch cook. Bishop, Wyoming. Single female only. No families please. Must be experienced in planning for and cooking for large groups. Must be able to pass a background check, drug test, and health certificate. Room and board supplied plus wages. Salary DOE. Other jobs - but not limited to: general housekeeping & up keep of cook house, bath house and gardening. If interested please call 555-762-8535 for more information._

Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed the number listed.

"Thank you for calling the Bishop Register, this is Angela speaking. How can I direct your call?"

"Umm…yes," Bella stuttered, confused. Bishop Register? That was a funny name for a ranch. "I saw a job posting for a ranch cook. Do I have the right number?"

"Oh, yes, you've got the right number," the cheerful woman on the other line answered. "I'll transfer you to Ms. Stanley. She can help you."

"Thank you, Angela," Bella replied. She waited as Angela put her on hold, listening with amusement as country music flowed through her ear piece.

"This is Jessica Stanley," a voice snapped when the line picked back up again.

"Yes, my name is Isabella Dwyer, and I'd like to inquire about the ranch cook position I saw in the _Hunter's Trade Magazine._"

"Do you have a recent resume?" Jessica asked immediately.

"Yes, I do. I can email to you right now if you like," Bella responded eagerly.

"That's great. Send it to j-s-t-a-n-l-e-y at the register dot com," Jessica instructed. "Now, before I review your resume, tell me a little about yourself. Have you ever worked as a cook before?"

Bella winced. "Well, not professionally, no, but I've worked food service at my high school as a co-op position, and I did most of the cooking for my foster dad and the group home where I stayed until after graduation last year. I've been working at a grocery store for the past six months doing stocking and cashier work mostly."

"Hmm, I see," the other woman replied. "Where are you from, Ms. Dwyer?"

"Kentucky. Forks, KY."

Jessica laughed. "Well, that's certainly a long way from Wyoming. What made you want to apply for a job all the way out here?"

Bella thought of Mike and his offer, but she couldn't tell Ms. Stanley about that. Instead, she said, "Well, I don't have any family here, nothing to hold me really, and I've been wanting a change of scenery. Wyoming seemed like as good a place as any."

"Okay, well, go ahead and email your resume, and I'll confer with my client. You should hear back from us by Friday."

Friday? Oh no, there was no way Bella could wait that long. She hurried to keep the other woman from hanging up.

"Actually, Ms. Stanley, is there any way I could speak with your client directly? Perhaps schedule a phone interview sometime today or tomorrow?"

Jessica sighed. "I don't know. My client isn't the most technically savvy person. That's why I'm handling things. I doubt he'd be available on such short notice."

"Oh," she replied quietly. "I see."

"Is there something the matter, Ms. Dwyer?" Jessica asked. She could hear the dejected note in the young girl's voice. "Something I can help you with?"

Bella fumbled with her phone, almost dropping it. "I. . ." she hesitated.

"Ms. Dwyer, if there's a problem, I'd be more than happy to help you. All you have to do is be honest with me. Can you do that?" Jessica waited for the girl to respond.

"It's just that...Oh god…I can't believe I'm telling you this," Bella rambled. "But I can't go back to my other job. My boss…he…well…he made this offer to me today. And I just can't go back there, you understand. It was demeaning and gross and just…awful! But I don't have any savings, and I can't afford to just leave my job with nowhere else to go. Mike, that's my boss, well, he wants me back on Thursday, and I was hoping to find another job before then. Do you understand?"

The other woman was quiet for a few minutes. Bella waited, holding her breath.

"Ms. Dwyer," Jessica finally said. "If I were to send you a bus ticket via email, could you be packed and ready to leave by Thursday morning?"

"What?!" Bella exclaimed. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Jessica assured her.

"Then yes," she agreed whole-heartedly. "I can certainly be ready. But what about your client? Won't he want to interview me before I just show up at his door?"

"You leave that to me, Ms. Dwyer. My client trusts my judgment implicitly. Just get your affairs together and be ready to leave bright and early Thursday morning. I'll make all the arrangements."

"I will," Bella replied gratefully. Her heart nearly burst from her chest trying to contain her joy. She couldn't believe what was happening. This woman had just answered all her prayers. "And thanks again, Ms. Stanley. You have no idea how much this means to me," she gushed.

Jessica cleared her throat. "No need to thank me, Ms Dwyer. But I do have one favor," she asked.

"Anything," Bella agreed quickly.

"Tell me," Jessica said cheerfully. "What is your boss's full name and the name of the grocery store there?"

* * *

**AN: Wow! Did anyone feel like taking a really hot shower like Bella did after that meeting with Mike? I know I did just writing about his character. And what about Jessica? What do you think she's gonna do with the information she asked from Bella. **

**Anyway, talk about a story taking on a life of its own. I had a completely different scenario planned for Bella's interview with Jessica and Red. And Jessica just took me completely by surprise and demanded to take over the situation. Wow! I'm just flabbergasted. So, tell me what you think everyone? I'm anxious to hear your thoughts.**


	5. Author Update

Dear Readers,

First, let me apologize that this is not a new chapter. I realize how very long it's been since I've updated any of my stories. I feel terrible because from reading the reviews I can see how much you love these characters. As a reader myself, I know how much it sucks when a writer is slow to post or just ditches a story altogether.

That being said, I am placing all my current WIPs on Hiatus. **They will be finished**. I am not giving up on them at all. But the truth of the matter is that I've been dealing with health issues, health scares really, that I never thought I would have to face. I've always been a pretty healthy person, rarely ever got sick or even had a cold. Even though I was diagnosed with Diabetes five years ago, I've done what the doctors told me and kept my numbers down. But earlier this summer, I found out that I've developed a heart condition as well.

I won't bore you with the details, but I've always been an active person. And now, I've had to take a drastic step back from things. It's been a humbling experience for me: trying to balance work, school, doctor's appointments, new medications, exhaustion, etc.

So, thank you for reading and caring about my stories. It means a lot. And when things get back on an even keel, I'll be back.

K


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